In Memory of John.
I've just listened to Alison Krauss & Union Station playing "It Doesn't Matter". This so reminds me of that turbulent time with first unconsummated love as a teenager.
The innocence, parental and medical (I had depression, John was epileptic, neither of them thought we could cope with the other) disapproval. The pressure making the time together more precious. The sleepless nights before a date, the dreams of being together forever, and the heartbreak when we gave into pressure and didn't see each other. I wrote poems for years afterwards. Well one got published, a teacher saw it and put it in a collection he was making of his students work.
Then a year later, after we broke up, hearing that he had died. He had took a fit in the house when he was on his own and choked. My handsome, artistic, intelligent John was gone. How I wished we had still been together, sure I would have been there to save him, sure that, as John always claimed, just looking at me would halt the fit.
In memory of a wonderful young man, only 17 when he left us in 1976. Sadly missed.
The innocence, parental and medical (I had depression, John was epileptic, neither of them thought we could cope with the other) disapproval. The pressure making the time together more precious. The sleepless nights before a date, the dreams of being together forever, and the heartbreak when we gave into pressure and didn't see each other. I wrote poems for years afterwards. Well one got published, a teacher saw it and put it in a collection he was making of his students work.
Then a year later, after we broke up, hearing that he had died. He had took a fit in the house when he was on his own and choked. My handsome, artistic, intelligent John was gone. How I wished we had still been together, sure I would have been there to save him, sure that, as John always claimed, just looking at me would halt the fit.
In memory of a wonderful young man, only 17 when he left us in 1976. Sadly missed.